


What Use Survival

by neverminetohold



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Invasion, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction, Slash, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: How could he have fallen in love with a monster from outer space in the middle of an alien invasion? It had been simple, really. Just surviving was never enough.





	What Use Survival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeiouna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeiouna/gifts).



The shock wave of an energy blast hit the last blockade. The explosion tinted the night sky first white-blue then orange-red, as fires began to spread. Screams. Gunfire. Sounds of defiance carried on the wind that ended in eerie silence.  
  
Ryan shuddered as plaster rained down on him and wrapped his threadbare blanket tighter around himself. He should be out there, fighting. Dying in a blaze of glory. Not huddling in a corner, holed up in a ruined building. Not that his old unit would have welcomed a traitor back into their ranks. In their eyes, he was barely worth a bullet. Every man broke under torture. A fact, but no excuse.  
  
Ryan massaged his scarred wrists with a bitter smile. He had held out longer than most. Had spent three years as a word slave, with only Jisha soldiers for company, on those days when he had been allowed to leave his cell. No contact to other humans, unless they were prisoners brought before him.  
  
He had been a most valuable asset, as an interpreter - and a well-loved pet and guinea pig.  
  
"Get a grip, man," Ryan croaked, his throat gone dry. He shook his head, desperate to clear it before the memories of endless interrogation sessions and experiments turned into a panic attack. "You're alright. One bullet left. They won't take you. And he'll come. You know he will. He promised."  
  
He pictured Khovir in his mind, those silver eyes focused on him. The feeling of being held, cradled in the arms of an alien three heads taller than him; the hard planes and angles of bone plates. The touch of a lipless mouth and claws, exploring every inch of him, fascinated by their differences, careful not to hurt him...  
  
Safety. That was what Khovir meant to him. He was the only reason that Ryan was still alive, waiting. Why he hadn't used his gun. Romantic, wasn't it? Or perhaps they simply suffered from Stockholm and Lima Syndrome. - Not that he gave a shit for a shrink's opinion.  
  
Ryan sighed as his pulse slowed down, leaving him with the shakes. Perhaps he _had_ gone mad. How else could he have fallen in love with a monster from outer space in the middle of an alien invasion, like something straight out of a cheap science fiction novel?  
  
"No use thinking about it." Ryan chuckled, one finger caressing his M17. "Talking to myself. Another one for the checklist."  
  
He scratched the puckered skin around his implant, then rummaged around in his backpack until he found some food. He wasn't hungry, but routine was important.  
  
"The last of its kind."  
  
Ryan turned the ration bar around and around in his hands. Tried not to think about what it meant for him that the box was empty. This one was of Jisha-make, a green-brown square the size of his fist.  
  
He ripped the not-plastic off with his teeth and started nibbling and licking. Hard as granite. It tasted salty and a little bitter, like that seaweed stuff they served in Japanese restaurants. Used to, past tense. Wouldn't ever again.  
  
At least it wouldn't kill him. How that was even possible, Ryan had no clue. Maybe one day, a scientist could figure that out. Then again, he had sucked Khovir's weird sheathed dick for months, so why the hell did he worry about food poisoning?  
  
"Going mad, that's why."  
  
Another hit, farther downtown, rocking the ground he sat on. Car alarms blared. A pack of feral dogs answered the racket, howling and barking. They ruled the city now, with mankind hiding and dying like rats - or shipped off to serve the Jisha as slaves.  
  
Ryan startled awake with no recollection of having finished his meal or fallen asleep. A shadow loomed over him. The Sig Sauer was knocked out of his hand before he could move. He went flying, crashed into the opposite wall. His ears were ringing, shoulder throbbing. There was sudden shouting, guttural sounds that were not Basic, that his implant couldn't parse.  
  
But it didn't matter. He recognized that voice. _Khovir_. Was relief supposed to make you this dizzy, sapping all your energy? Must be a concussion.  
  
Ryan faded in and out of darkness, catching only snatches of the ensuing fight. A fist punching a hole through concrete, Khovir rolling out of reach with a snarl. The Jisha soldier struggling, trying to break free, his barbed tongue lolling - the sound of bones snapping.  
  
That, right there, was their death sentence. Their stupid little dream of escaping together was over and done. He should have used the gun. Get at least Khovir out of this alive.  
  
He didn't say anything, though. No time to waste. Ryan managed a wan smile and took the hand Khovir offered him. He ended up being carried like a sack of potatoes. Good, let it hurt.  
  
They weren't dead yet.


End file.
